//------------------------------// // Ep2: Southbound Dust Jacket // Story: Death by Dragon // by Compendium of Steve //------------------------------// The lull created from train rattling over rail made for a restful slumber, but I finally notice the light of a new day. Rolling on my side, I look out the window. Miles upon miles of featureless desert and mountains all around, and it’s been that way since last night. However, an announcement from the conductor breaks the dismal feel of the scenery. “Appleloosa, ladies and gentlecolts. Last Stop: Appleloosa. All passengers must disembark, so have your luggage ready.” I pull myself out of the cramped sleeping compartment and stretch my legs, yawning and putting on my shades as I head for the next car over. Most of the passengers are already up and about getting ready, so I grab a window seat and let the last vestiges of sleep evaporate. My head is completely clear by the time I see the first buildings, and the feel of the train slowing down gets me back on my feet. It’s another minute before it stops completely. The doors open, and an arid gust immediately hits me. I pat my concealed sword. Assured of its presence, I adjust my shades and step out to greet the last great frontier. Ep2 SOUTHBOUND DUST JACKET Rather, I would have greeted it, if it wasn’t so ridiculously hot. The shade of the platform awning didn’t do much in staving off the heat, but I opted to just stand and look around regardless as the other passengers went their ways (walking around would just make it worst). From here it looks the same: tall shacks for buildings, and nothing but dust, tumbleweeds and ten-gallon hats. Speaking of which, I spot a local trotting up to me. A very familiar one. Mussy dirt-blonde mane, smooth rugged looks, plain fedora and stylin’ leather (pleather?) vest. He’s also got one of the biggest idiot grins I’ve ever seen: a mix of humble courtesy, country bumpkin and childish excitement. Typical Braeburn, alright. He comes up to me and shouts, “Howdy there, Spike!” Just then I realize oh crap, it’s Braeburn. “And welcome, to AAAAAAAAAAHHH-P—” I plant a firm claw on his lips to silence him. “Shhhh. Save the schtick.” I wonder how many shippers will purposefully misinterpret that gesture. Answer: all of them. Better make them work for it, then. “So how’s the missus?” “Right dandy she is, Spike,” he replies after I withdraw my claw. “Things have been fine at home, so can’t complain any.” “Uh-huh. How long until the new arrival?” He makes that excited smile again, lifting his chin for emphasis. “Shouldn’t be more than a few weeks now. Smooth goin’ for a first pregnancy, I have to say.” “Really? That soon?” I shrug. “Huh, guess it’s been awhile since I last checked.” “Well, with your work and all I can understand.” He glances to the sides before looking at me with a more serious look. “Speaking of, you’ll be wantin’ the details, I reckon.” “You reckon correctly.” “Alright, but I best think it should be discussed someplace more cozy, and especially private. If yer okay with that.” “Fine by me.” I walk down off the platform, following Braeburn to the opening of Main Street. There isn’t time to continue the chat, as a posse of surly broncos round a building corner and block our way in. It’s only four of ‘em, but they’re well-built for their relatively average sizes, and decked out in typical lame pioneer gear. They’re giving us mean looks, though they’re mostly aimed at me. I remain stalwart in the face department, but Braeburn is looking pretty uncertain. “Uh, howdy there y’all.” “Looks like the kid wasn’t lying,” the stallion at front says, ignoring Braeburn completely. “Why’re you here, Fetcher?” “Business. Whaddya think?” The guy’s face hardens, and those of his companions do so in suit. Braeburn (bless his bumpkin heart) moves into the middle between us and speaks up again. “N-now now, Spur. This ain’t the time nor place to be makin’ trouble” “Then you done messed up by lettin’ this punk off the train.” Big guy spits to the side. “I’ll make this clear, Fetcher: you might be cozy with princesses, but some folks won’t be buyin’ it. Make any trouble for us and there’s gonna be heck to pay.” “Funny you should say that: I don’t like putting up with trouble either.” I throw open my suit jacket and place a claw on my sword, making sure it’s visible for all to see. “However, if trouble were to come my way, then it would be understandable for me to deal with it as I see fit.” I push up the hilt to show a gleam of silver. “Just so we’re clear, ‘pilgrim’.” He grumbles with closed lips, and after a few seconds of disgruntled staring he turns around and says “Let’s go, boys,” and like that our path is clear again. Just gotta show some authority with these strong-headed types. That isn’t to say they’re cowards when it comes to a fight. Far from it. In the field of explosives and pie-throwing they’re top-grade. But when it comes to close-quarters with a deadly weapon, they’re all thumbs (well, hooves). Braeburn moves slowly back over to me, eyeing the departing would-be aggressors. “Uh, yeah... That’s sorta why I wanted us to be someplace private before we could talk some more.” “I totally understand. And before you say, I’m not the least bit offended at this point.” “Uh-huh, alright.” He eases up a bit. “Saloon’ll do no good, so we'll go to my house. It’s down at the other end of town, in case you forgot.” “Right, right. Hey, I need to do something real quick. Just go on ahead and I’ll catch up.” “Umm, you sure?” “I won’t go anywhere, and it’ll only take a sec.” “Okay, Spike.” He rubs the back of his neck and turns around, but just as quickly looks back. “Oh, and I just wanna say welcome to town, Spike. It’s real nice seeing you again.” “Same here, Braeburn.” He finally trots away toward town, and as he approaches the nearest building, I pull out a blank sheet and quill from my suit and write. “Arrived... no delay... met contact... proceeding with mission...” I roll up the scroll, wrap an official ribbon around it and set it on fire with my breath. As the smoke and ash whisk away, I start walking after Braeburn. Back with him, we take a stroll through town. There are a few new buildings from last time, but they’re as old-fashion looking as the rest. You wouldn’t think this place was transitioning into the modern age just from its looks, but it is. More ponies are moving in, different kinds of businesses are springing up (like actual dental clinics), and last I heard there was talk of installing electric lamps (don’t ask me where they’ll get the power). And of course, the appearance of the library as an institution. It was only a few years ago when Her Majesty’s campaign finally spread to the furthest edges of the kingdom. The first library was a big hit, and literacy and interest in the written word increased. There were a lot of delinquencies too, mostly because the locals didn’t quite understand the importance of returning books on the exact due date. Came out here a few times to spell it out for them. Tried not to be too hard on them, and there had only been a few fatalities. Even so, they were quick to take it the wrong way, henceforth made a point to show me how unwelcome I was every time I came by. Perhaps if they stay in line another year they’ll start warming up to me. We pass by the saloon, and before the porch a tiny crowd was gathered. Apparently somepony’s blocking the entrance. Somepony powder-blue, with a shimmering wavy name, and yelling atop a (literal) soapbox. “Hear me now, simple-minded rustlers and farmers of dust, for I bring you the GREAT and POWERFUL word of your benevolent ruler, Her Majesty Princess Twilight Sparkle! Give praise for her will and vision which makes this forsaken corner of the world bearable to look at, and of course for allowing the ever-immaculate Trixie to grace you with her awe-inducing presence. So shudder with gratitude for this most searing and wondrous of days out here in your simple hamlet of Appleloosa!” Trixie. A name and face I had thought I forgot, but hearing that self-indulgent voice brought it all flowing back like a bucket of ice water and glitter. Not long after Twi became a princess, Trixie came running to make the most use of the goodwill she barely forged after her brief Ponyville takeover (long story you probably already heard). Twilight, being the forgiving type, found a seemingly harmless use for her. In ancient times, criers were employed to spread the word of the rulers far across the land, and Twilight saw one in Equestria’s greatest showpony. In fact, Trixie turned out to be so qualified that no others were hired. Meaning she got to work her stuff in cities and towns far from Ponyville. Lucky girl. But after an incident in Whinnypeg involving a disagreement and creative use of a baguette, Her Highness thought it best to have her faithful crier spread the good word to the more neglected outreaches of the empire. And seems like fate had brought her here to Appleloosa... while I’m around. Joy. “You there, in the shoddy hat. Have you given thanks to the princess that enlightens your mind?” Even without the hat and cape, her grandstanding still retains a presence. A big, overbearing one. “Urr, I reckon I haven’t, miss,” says the poor sod she’s picking on. “Such selfishness says I, Trixie! Trotting about, enjoying the beautiful hot weather, and not once thinking of the one who makes such glorious days possible. Have you no shame, sir?” “Actually, ain’t that Celestia’s job?” “It is, but Twilight Sparkle imparts the intelligence you need to fully appreciate something as grand and sublime as the day! What are you, some kind of ignorant ass?” “...I more prefer the term 'burro',” replies the ass. “Are you about done here? I needs me saltlick,” says one ornery customer, to which a theatrical gasp arose. “Saltlicks are the nectar of the unenlightened commoner! You must partake of apples; it is by the will of the princess and you will please her!” “I’ve been eatin’ apples, and nows I gots cavities cuz of it! And I knows not what those were till two weeks ago!” Now they’re starting to sound angry. “Hmph. Then you can take that as a lesson in maintaining proper dental care, you silly dirt farmer.” An apple flies out from the crowd, but it gets wrapped in blue magic within three inches of Trixie’s head. “See? It’s utter wastefulness such as this that Her Majesty never comes to visit. You blight yourselves into justified obscurity!” She takes a hard bite out of the apple and looks around, but her head stops once it lines up in my direction, and her eyes widen. Dammit, she’s spotted me. Why did I have to stop in the middle of the road? (Hoping to see her get a concussion) “HOLD IT!” Trixie flicks the bitten apple away before throwing down a smoke bomb, and a second later she’s leaping through the smoke, over coughing attendees, and hits the ground running. The yards between us are covered like nothing, and she skids right up to me. “What a surprise! It has been too long.” “Hey Trix. You’re looking well.” Said it cool as a cucumber, and not like I’m talking to what could be perceived as an axe-wielding maniac from the outset. “Indeed I am. This dry air and heat makes for hardy conditioning, and the warm sand is quite rejuvenating to Trixie’s hooves.” After she admires one of said hooves, she looks back to me. “So what brings you out here, if Trixie may be permitted to ask Her Majesty’s most faithful vanguard.” “A job. Royal orders and such, no biggie.” “Ah, yes, well Trixie is out here under royal orders as well. Somepony needs to bring enlightenment to these simple masses, and Her Highness only trusts moi to make it happen.” “Impressive,” I say flatly. “You staying out of trouble at least?” “Trixie can handle herself, thank you very much.” She whips back her mane. “The reception has been cold despite the desert heat, but I will get to them. Trixie always wins out eventually.” “Good to know. Certainly wouldn’t want me to have to bail you out like in Whinnypeg. It’d cut in on precious royal duty time.” She raises a hoof to her chest, ever so dramatically. “Perish the thought, for me to do anything to hinder the progress of a fellow royal servant. Why, more than anything, Trixie would go out of her way to help further your assignment, whatever it may be... granted that it’s in the same general area as Trixie.” “It warms me up just to hear that, Trix.” “Hmph. Trixie is immune to your jests, Spike. Now if you’ll excuse me, there is important work that needs to be done.” She begins to trot away, but after three steps she looks back to me. “Oh, and if it isn’t too much to ask, perhaps next time you see Her Majesty, could you ask her about the possibility for reassignment? Not that there’s anything wrong here, not at all. But I feel that the word of Her Majesty should be shared in other places. Perhaps someplace tropical, but not too balmy.” “I’ll be sure to bring it up. Royal servants gotta look out for each other and all.” “Be sure that you do. I have been especially loyal in my duties these past four months. (certainly worth some reward)” “What was that?” “Trixie said nothing. And now I must go!” With that she gallops away to who knows where. Braeburn creeps over into my field of vision with a look of worried exasperation. “She only been here for three days,” he says. “Hasn’t done anything wrong, but she sure kicks up a fuss without really tryin’.” “Yeah, that’s kinda her thing,” I say with a sigh. “Sorry that you have to deal with her.” Braeburn nods solemnly before talking. “Welp, let’s get to the homestead before something else weird happens.” Amen to that. I still can’t pinpoint what happened with Trixie. She’s shown genuine service over the years toward Her Majesty (in her own way), and does make an effort to not come off as a completely contemptible bitch, but I suspect that deep down she still despises Twilight and all her success, and in some way is trying to subvert it by being the biggest show-off around. As they say: old habits die hard. We only get wary stares from some of the townies by the time we make it to the house. Pretty nice, solidly built townhouse with its very own water spigot out front (ritzy). He leads me up to the door and we both step inside out of the sun. It’s very homey to say the least: rocking chair, dining table with all the trimmings, stitch-work picture frames, and the soothing smell of home cooking. Braeburn takes off his hat and puts it on the rack by the door as he announces us. “Oh darlin’, guess who I brought back from the train station!” The soft patter of cloven hooves comes from around the corner as the lady of the house makes her appearance. “Spike! So good to see you!” she says with delight. “Been a while, LS. Hope you’re keeping off your hooves like you ought too.” Heh, Little Strongheart: ain’t so little anymore. Grown enough feet to almost match her husband, not to mention that subtle bulge under that brown dress. From the looks of it, she’s taken to domesticated living quite nicely. “I do,” she replies. “It hasn’t really been uncomfortable, though it’s supposed to be bad at this point.” “It’s really no surprise when you think about it,” I reason. “Honest workhorse and pure buffalo genes? That’s just good stock.” She giggles. “I guess so. Hopefully it will have at least half its father’s good looks and sweetness.” “And I hope it has half their mother’s common sense to make up for all the thick-headedness that goes with it.” Braeburn makes a wink. “Oh, you kidder. At least you’ll always be a stud, heehee.” Blegh. “Anyway darlin’, can you bring out some cold cider? Me and Spike’s got some talkin’ to do.” “Sure thing, Braeburn.” She turns back into what I can assuredly say is the kitchen. Cute story about how these two came to be: around the time the local tribes started getting tired of pie offerings, some other means of fostering peace between ponies and buffalo was needed. The easiest (ie quickest) solution, turns out, was hooking up Appleloosa’s most strapping bachelor and the fairest buffalo maiden as a display of unity between the two species. Admittedly archaic by today’s standards, but it worked: the two hit it off as a darling couple, and eventually buffalo began moving in, acquainting themselves with pony society. I personally attended their wedding as a representative for the princess’ blessing for their shared happiness (yep, totally a romantic). Kind of surprising it took them this long to finally start a family. And before you start on the whole pregnancy thing, don’t. Otherwise we’ll be stuck here all day explaining things with flow charts and vegetables of questionable shape. If that won’t satisfy you, then save it for the comments. Maybe if you ask real nicely, then you might get an explanation from someone who actually gives a damn. Anyway, back to what’s happening. “Have a seat, Spike.” Braeburn gestures to the table, and we both go over and pull up a chair. That’s when it occurs to me: I left Sweetie’s cupcake dish on the train. Damn. Eh, I’ll just buy her a new one if she asks about it.  Strongheart comes back a moment later with a small tray and two cups, which she places on the table. I take a cup and give a nod, as does Braeburn. “Thanks, honey darlin’.” Strongheart beams at us before heading back to the kitchen. Braeburn takes a swig of the cider, and I just take a sip. Nice and cold, rich in flavor. “Fresh off the orchard,” he says. “I woulda offered coffee, but it’s a bit late in the day for that. Heh, I tell ya, our icebox is mighty useful. Say, you ever try napoles? It’s specially-made cactus, and it has an interestin’ taste. And real refreshin’ when it’s served cold.” “As much as I’d like to discuss food, Braeburn, I don’t think we really have the time.” “Oh, of course not. Then we’ll just start.” He looks glum as he gets up and trots over to a nearby dresser. He picks up a folder there and brings it over to the table. Placing it down, he flips it open to reveal some photos and papers, undoubtedly reports. That’s the benefit of building an information out of your closest friends and acquaintances: no rigid protocol to slow things down, and more hospitable than dealing with officials. “It started when Dusty Trail, the town’s book stocker, noticed a textbook was missin’,” he began. “He went to double-check and found some more missing books, and decided to bring it up at the next town meetin’. That’s when we learned bout the others.” He pushes out some of the photos and papers. “We got word from places like Dodge Junction and others with similar reports. Dictionaries, history books, population census', just all kinds of literature, gone. No rhyme or reason as to why, neither.” “Yeah, that’s pretty strange,” I comment. “How about leads? Suspects?” “Actually, we just got a break last night.” He slides around some more sheets before planting a hoof on one at the bottom, which he slides to me. “Up to now, we couldn’t pick up any trace of who done it. No prints of any sort, and there was always some hot sauce mix that got in the way of the dogs. But then they got sloppy. That there’s what we found outside the depository.” I pick up the photo and give it a look. A deep impression set into red earth. Four large circles around a bigger one, and what looks like claw marks. Diamond Dog. “Seemed he went to get the remaining part of an encyclopedia collection that was stolen the other week, but the dang mutt forgot to cover his tracks. Shoulda figured it had to be them. They’re not exactly upstandin’ citizens. Well, apart from being able to stand upright, that is.” It’s funny what a new regime can bring: new laws, wealth, and expansion of property and citizenry. It still came as a surprise when an emissary group of Diamond Dogs came to Canterlot, pleading that their numbers had gotten too large and their plot of dirt didn’t have enough room, food or gems to sustain them. After a council between the four princesses, it was decided to throw the guys a bone and welcome them into pony society, under certain conditions. It was uneasy at first, but they were eventually accepted as a reliable (albeit mangy) working class. Heavy-lifters and strong arms that make for good construction workers and bodyguards when the need calls for it. What’s more, some water and gem treats were all that was needed to keep them happy. Of course, that doesn’t mean they stopped reminding us why we had them underground to begin with. Don’t get me wrong: despite past experiences, I have nothing against Diamond Dogs, so long as they stay in line. It’s when they get into things like gangs and mafia circles that things get a bit sketchy. (They’re not eloquent, but the mess they leave behind is a loud enough message to disagreeable parties) “Our dogs were able to track this one. No hot sauce; like I said, sloppy,” Braeburn continues. “It started gettin’ dark when the trail brought us to the railyard outside of town. Right now, only one train is using it, belonging to Stampede Incorporated.” He pulls in the other reports. “We checked train registries at other stations on a hunch. Funny enough, a Stampede train was around whenever these robberies were happin’.” Stampede Incorporated: buffalo-owned and operated. With buffaloes integrating with ponies, it was only a matter of time before they started their own businesses to match their less bulkier counterparts. Started with small things, like cooking and all-natural quilt outlets, but it wasn’t long before they got ambitious. Produce markets, post offices, farms, and the big daddy of ol’ pioneer cash cows: the railroad. Stampede is relatively new, but has been gaining enough business to get mention in the Canterlot financial pages (and gaining notice with its catchy slogan: “Swift delivery without mercy”). Yep, just the right front for a book smuggling ring. “We were goin’ to investigate the railyard today, but figured we’d let you do it first, since I reckon this falls into yer jurisdiction.” “And you’d reckon correctly.” “Still, it kinda bothers me. Don’t know why Stampede would be stealin’ books. Haven’t been that big a demand for those kinds anyway ‘round these parts, at least that I’m aware of.” “The ‘why’ doesn’t matter. It’s finding the ‘who’ and putting a stop to them that is.” “And I understand. Heck, that’s how ol’ Silverstar would view it.” He sighs. “Keepin’ the peace hasn’t been the same since he retired. The new sheriff does alright, but he’s still a little wet behind the ears. Proceedins take longer than they should at times. Gotta go through evidence and witness reports and such. With Silverstar, there’d be no fuss or muss. Straight to the hoosegow, by golly. Law quickly administered and everypony’s happy.” “I can respect that, granted it doesn’t go overboard.” He chuckles. “Yeah, and to be honest, Silverstar would jump the gun from time to time. Course, now it’s all about proper procedures and criminal rights and such. All part of modernization I suppose. Only a matter of time till everything in town operates exactly like Canterlot. Meanin’ new office-holders, like the mayor. A fine mess that’ll be.” I take another sip of cider, now somewhat warm. “You wouldn’t make too bad a mayor, Braeburn.” “Me? Naw, I’m just a simple farmer, always have and always will. Only good with maintainin’ crops than maintainin’ a town.” “Actually, some would say that’s the same thing.” Strongheart comes back from the kitchen and snuggles up with her husband. “Hey there, darlin’. Stew lookin’ alright?” “Yes. I made extra sure.” She and Braeburn share a kiss. Very tender (aka, more “Blegh”). “I think you’d make a good mayor too, Braeburn. Or at the very least a very handsome one.” “Ya think so?” He rubs his neck. “Well if it be you sayin’ it, guess I could give it a try when the time comes. Just don’t go hasslin’ folks for votes, okay? You can be pretty pushy at times.” “Oh you.” She punches him in the shoulder, half-knocking him off the chair before he rights himself back. Right, I think that’s about enough. “It’s been swell seeing you two doing well.” I down the rest of the cider in one gulp and stand up. “But I better be going.” I start to turn around. “Where you headin’?” Braeburn asks. “Railyard. Got some Diamond Dogs to sniff out.” I begin walking toward the door. “So soon? Don’t you want to wait a while?” “I’ve taken up enough of your time.” “It’s no worry having you here, Spike,” joins Strongheart. “Would you care to try some napoles?” “I told him about ‘em earlier, hun. I bet it’d do him good before he left.” “Sorry, but duty comes first. It’d be bad to let criminals get away.” I pull open the door. “Thanks for the intel. I’ll make sure to stop by once the work is done.” I step out into the arid afternoon and shut the door softly behind. A bit cold, but a capital offense is in progress and it needs clamping down. Fast. Last I recall, the railyard’s northwest of here, almost a ten minute walk. Just enough time to ponder. Though getting the books back is top priority, Braeburn did raise a good question. Why would a transit company steal books? Ultimately it doesn’t matter; individuals and groups both large and small steal for just about every reason imaginable. Sell them? Add to a personal collection? Hell, Stampede could be innocent in all of this, and is being used as cover that’s none-the-wiser (though really, how often is that the case?) Soon I’m at the railyard. I creep up behind the nearest pile of railroad ties and scope the area. Just one cargo train, several cars. And of course, the place is crawling with Diamond Dogs. They’re all in uniform, though, and are moving boxes and crates into the cars. There’s even a few buffalo helping (though mostly “supervising”). Seems they’re about ready to split; lucky I left when I did. Now there’s the matter of getting on. This being a legitimate business, royal etiquette expects me to introduce myself and request permission to search the cars. But given my luck with royal etiquette lately, I could be neck deep in Diamond Dogs before they finish saying “Wait while I get the conductor.” So that just leaves one other investigative method that can save me the hassle of getting dog-piled on the spot (heh). Of course, as I was running all that through my head, the sound of padded feet on dirt reaches my ears, and looking around I see two Diamond Dogs palming their fists in my direction. Both have on the red and blue Stampede uniforms, including the hats that come off as way-too-small for their heads. One is a foot shorter than the other (for these kinds of thugs, there’s always a short guy). The taller one is sizing me up through a half-closed eye. “Whatsss you doing sssnooping around here?” he hisses (still don’t know why they hiss. They’re dogs... sorta). “Official royal business. Just surveying the premises, making sure things are up to specs.” They must be new to the job, or at least unaware of my actual person. Can’t go waving the Vanguard title in that case. Even the most uneducated idiot here knows that’s code for Fetcher, and we know how well-loved that name is around these parts. No need to worry much, though: I don’t think he bought the alternative. “You looksss more like a ssspiffy-dressssed punk to me. Aintchu think ssssso too, Reg?” “Ralp,” the other dog agrees. (I’m surprised they know the word “spiffy.” More so that he used it properly!) “Rightsss, so you bessst clear out of here before we makesss thingsss ugly for you.” “Oh, is that how it is?” I scratch my chin. “Hmm, then maybe these official documents will prove my identity.” I reach into my suit while keeping an eye on the thugs through my shades. Dumbasses are actually leaning in. Immediately I shoot out my elbow into the chin of the tall one, knocking him off his feet with an explosive “crack.” Just as the other one’s jaw starts to drop I slam a fist onto his noggin, sending him onto the dirt. Quick, but kinda disappointing. Shuffling sounds from behind makes me turn, but halfway through the motion there is a heavy “toft” and the sound of groaning coupled with that of something hitting the ground. Spun around, I see that another Diamond Dog had snuck up on me and was going to lay me flat with a wooden beam. I say “was” because now he’s knocked out on the ground, probably from the powder blue bulk that’s on top of him. For a split second, I’m at a loss for words. But that's it. “Trixie? What the hell are you doing here?” “I believe I just saved your life, thank you very much.” She stands up and hops off the fallen mutt. “No, I seriously want to know why you’re here.” “Hah! Trixie saw you running out of town and took it upon herself to follow you. Undoubtedly you were off to something important.” “Yeah, important Vanguard work. Not something to do with Royal Criers.” “I had done enough spreading of the princess’ good name for today.” She says this with a raised, dismissive hoof. “I thought you’d be more grateful at my intervention. Just imagine how terrible things would be should one of Her Majesty’s most valued servant fell.” I try to quell my annoyance, then take a glance up at the pile of railroad ties. It’s a good fifteen feet high. I look back at Trixie with a different expression. “How did you even get up there?” “I’ve taken time to improve my magic over the years you know. Scaling something like this is mere foal’s play to Trixie’s enhanced ability!” “Yet you couldn’t have thought of something more creative then dropping yourself on someone to knock them out?” An agonized pause as Trixie looks around. “Well, um, uh, that is... It’s impressively quick decision-making. That’s what really matters!” “Sure.” I then remember why I’m here in the first place, and go back over to my earlier spot. The crew is about done loading cargo. Need to think of something quick. “I take it you’re in the midst of some intense surveillance.” “Not at all; I’m just trying to catch a train.” I briefly glance back at her then back to the train. “Listen, this doesn’t concern you. Head back to town before more of them find us.” “Head back? But I just saved you! Isn’t Trixie obligated to provide further assistance?” “I appreciate what you did, but you’d just get in the way. Doubt they’d let you get the ‘drop’ on them a second time.” “Trixie refuses to believe that! Were it not for me you’d very much be dead, so take me along with you so I can provide more protection.” Dammit, I don’t have time for this. “Seriously Trixie, get your flank back to town or I’ll—” I stop, straightening up as an idea comes to me. And as it turns out, it can support two. I turn back to Trixie calmly. “Actually, I just thought of a way you can help me.” STARING AT A COMPUTER SCREEN FOR EXTENDED LENGTHS OF TIME CAN BE HAZARDOUS TO YOUR HEALTH. MAKE SURE TO TAKE BREAKS REGULARLY FOR MAXIMUM SAFE ENJOYMENT OF JOYFULNESS. Some minutes later, the train is well on its way. The back car shakes and jolts with every little bump in the track. From where I am, a Diamond Dog and buffalo are milling about, playing security and making a bad effort at looking the part (try being discreet all you want, I still see you picking your nose, bud). There is a shuddering sound that snaps them to attention. My heart races as they make their move. Soon they’re over the crate. The two look to each other, nod with sinister understanding, and the Diamond Dog grabs and pulls off the wooden lid. Audible gasps fill the air as something else joins in. “Why, hello there, rail workers. I assure you, there’s a perfectly good explanation for this. Though I have to point out, it’s not polite to gawk in a lady’s direction, especially a Great and Powerful one.” The distraction worked beautifully; time to move. The top of my crate blows off and I stand up to look down at the guards, who turn back and give me a look more confused than the one they had before (I imagine. They had their backs to me, after all). I admit, the sombrero and poncho are a bit much, but hell, it’s a vacation. “Hola.” I give a two-finger salute, and just as they get up to speed with the situation at hand, I throw off my poncho onto the Diamond Dog. While he’s flailing to get it off, I drop down before his startled companion, take the horns and drive his forehead into my knee (damn thing smarts). He stumbles back, but shakes it off and tries to ram me. I hop back, and as he’s readying another go I punch the side of his face (head’s too thick for a straight), and I deliver a hook with my other fist. A leaping roundhouse puts him down for good, and jumping off his large back I ram my foot down onto the Diamond Dogs head, just as he gets the poncho off. I dust off my claws as I look over the handiwork, and taking a moment, I remove the sombrero and toss it onto the buffalo (stylin’). It’s at this point that Trixie decides to leave her crate. “Good work there, Trix.” “But of course. Would you expect anything less from one as marvelously capable as Trixie?” “Uhh, kinda?” She turns up her head with a huff, but I just shrug and make for the door leading to the next car. Trixie trots a few steps behind. “What next?” she asks. “I go ahead and take care of things. You head back to town.” I open up the door and step through. “What? Then what was the point of bringing me along?” “Because you wouldn’t shut up and there wasn’t time to argue.” “The nerve! Well, in case you forgotten, we’re on a moving train. Which means I’m not going anywhere.” A downward plunge of my sword severs the coupling, and the car behind detaches and begins slowing down. “Oh yes you are.” I can imagine her looking wide-eyed over the increasing gap. Brings a slight smile to my face. “W-w-w-wait! You can’t do this to Trixie! I’m too invaluable an ally to abandon! Hey, get back here! Are you listen—” The rushing wind drowns out her words just as I close the door, bringing satisfying silence. Everyone else will definitely have felt that, meaning there’ll be company. I flex my neck and stride down center aisle between the cargo crates, but before I get halfway down, the door across from me busts open and in come the muscle. Mostly Diamond Dogs, but I spot a buffalo or two. And they’re eager to introduce me to their pals Lefty and Righty (also Horny. Uhh...). I stop and look from one to another, then spin my sword around holding it rigid. What little light in the car gleams off the blade, though none of the muscle look daunted. Too late to do this diplomatically, and this being a vacation, I may as well cut loose. The first Diamond Dog to charge me gets an arm sliced off before I slash his chest open. The next one charges all the same, but I sidestep and twirl, cutting out his legs as he passes by. Crouching, I swing my blade up to sever the neck of the third dog, then I kick him into the remaining dogs and buffalos. I have time to flick blood off the blade before the remainers decide to come at me in pairs (very smart). I bob away from a Diamond Dog hook and leapfrog over his buffalo partner, and once over I bring a back kick to his ass, knocking him down (flanks of steel. Yeesh). Back-flipping onto his prone form, I use my added elevation to slice downward and behead the Diamond Dog before shoving my blade down through the buffalo’s spine. Only two more. I hop off the gurgling corpse, and run up to the buffalo that’s in mid-charge. I jump and land on his head, bouncing off to bring a sidekick to the face of the Diamond Dog, which smashes him into the side of the car, breaking some boards. Back down on the floor, I lower and bring up my sword to tear open the stunned buffalo’s guts, who collapses over with a shocked groan. As he’s helplessly trying to put his bits back into place, I look around and go for one of the crates. Nothing but grain sacks, top to bottom. I look into a few more, but it’s more or less the same. The goods should be further ahead, and with that thought, I step over the whimpering buffalo and enter the next car. Seems there’s a lot more of them than I thought, cuz now they’re pouring in from the other end. Some of them even have weapons, axes and the like. Time to get messy. I dash forward and cut through two of them, placing me in the middle of the crowd. Without pause, I start swinging and chopping up doggy bits and buffalo jerky. One of them gets the idea to grab me from behind, but I bend to sweep out his legs with my tail, and while he’s airborne I spin around and split him in two. (very useful appendage the tail. Not used often by those who have it, strangely enough) It really is a vacation: I haven’t exacted this much gore in a confined space in over a year. A bit macabre, but the death cries can be a bit hilarious. At one point someone screams “My SPLEEEEEN!!” That never gets old. (though I didn’t hit him anywhere near the spleen. Did buffalo anatomy change since last I was here?) I kick a Diamond Dog through the door into the next car, and stepping through there’s yet another crowd waiting at the other end. I place my thumb on the edge of the sword and slide it down, letting blood trickle over the metal. Once a thin layer forms, I bring it up to my face and breathe some fire onto it. “Jade Slider.” I swing my sword down and over the ground, unleashing a streak of green fire that burns up the car floor and blasts the opposition on the other side. Once things quiet down, I check some more crates. Assorted furniture, some throw rugs. Those damn mutts better not have buried them at the railyard or something like that, otherwise I’d look like a complete idiot, not to mention there’d be one hell of public relations nightmare. Then again, a train carrying this much muscle is rather suspicious. And as the old law adage goes: everyone is guilty of something. Stepping through the next door, I do something different and climb up to the top of the car. The wind’s a bit strong, but I stay low until I reach the wooden hatch in the middle. Opening the catch, I throw it open and look down into the dim car below, and picking my target I leap down and drive my sword through the neck of an unsuspecting buffalo. His buddies are understandably freaked out, and finishing them off proves effortless because of it. I take a moment to take in the musk of the boxcar mingled with the metallic scent of blood sprayed over wooden surfaces. I’ve gotten so used to the smell of blood I never notice it unless I stop and let it sink in. It soothes my soul when I do smell it, so I make a point to stop and sniff it on occasion for a shot of aromatherapy. My gaze turns down to a pile of dark objects by the front of the car. A woodpile, extra fuel for the engine. An awful lot of it, considering how much must be stored near the engine itself. And wouldn’t they be using coal? I then notice one of the logs had fallen off during the scuffle. It had split in half, revealing itself to be mostly hollow. I say mostly because one half of it had a book stuffed into it, specifically something encyclopedic in nature. I go over and grab another log, and pull it until it too splits open. Same result; paydirt. Now to bring this criminal express to a stop. I stride over into the next car. Cubby holes in the walls suggest this is the sleeper car, but no one’s here. Must’ve slaughtered them all. Through the next door, I find myself standing in the compartment of the engine’s boiler, where two buffalo are shoveling coal and logs in the sweltering heat (looks like I missed some). “Hey, mind giving me directions? I appear to be lost.” They manage to hear me over the noise of the engine and turn, and after a brief pause to look at me wave at them, they approach with shovels in hoof. Three seconds later, their fat hides are flung out tumbling into the vast desert. Finally having the place to myself, I look around for the brakes. My knowledge of trains is sparse, but I’ve got plenty of time. Looking over the boiler, I see a stack of wood beside the coal pile. They look exactly like the ones from two cars back. Then my gaze turns to the open hatch into the boiler. Through the flames I see fuel burning, dry, thin. Among them I catch sight of something just as it erupts into ash. It becomes painfully clear. This isn’t a book smuggling ring... it’s a book burning. “So you’re the one they call Fetcher.” I stiffen slightly before turning around in the direction of the thunderous voice. Blocking the entirety of the door frame is a buffalo. A proper buffalo, not one of those scrawny variety I’ve been slicing through. The kind who’d make chieftain in the old tribes. Thick bushy hair of dark brown, even thicker horns, and a scar beneath eyes as dark and fierce as the prairie night. He’s also dressed up like a train conductor, coveralls and everything. Kinda weird. How’d I miss him? (where was he for that matter?) “Your arrival has been expected for some time,” he booms. “Even still, your presence on my train is most unwelcome.” “Well as it should be, considering what you got going on here.” I’ve been in enough stand-offs to know where this will lead. Still, I’ll be as civil as possible. Maybe get some fun out of it. “Stealing books is one thing, but this?” I spread out my arms for emphasis. “This is worth a public execution in Canterlot Square.” “Hmff,” he snorts through powerful nostrils. “Not that it will matter, seeing as you will not leave here alive.” (Oh, amazingly original threat there) “Really? And who is it that will be seeing to that, chief? Seeing what I did with the rest of the staff and all.” “Me, of course.” He straightens up and makes himself look bigger. Here we go. “I am Boulderstorm, CEO of Stampede Incorporated.” I just give him a plain look and a shrug. “Makes sense. Does the boss often ride with his cargo?” “Only when the occasion calls for it.” He shrinks down slightly. “And your intrusion on this train was foreseen well in advance.” “Foreseen, eh? Checked the stars or some other new age mumbo-jumbo?” Waving my claws over my head may come off as culturally insensitive, but let’s be real: this guy’s the head of a respectable business? “No, not new age. Tradition. Something that your masters wish to erase from the world.” He starts trotting to the left, and so do I. Typical motion shared between villain and hero. “My kind is in danger. Pony gentrification is steadily killing our heritage, removing our identity to make us more ‘civilized’ like our weaker counterparts.” “March of progress, man. Gotta get with the times.” “We lived by the law of nature. It taught and molded us into hardened warriors of the plains, rulers of the desert. We took only what we needed from the land, respected it. But ponies merely take and waste whatever they come across, be it resources or those who oppose their views.” “The other buffalos seem okay with that.” “Blinded by trinkets and shallow ideals. Partaking of those wretched pies was the first mistake, and as time passes, more and more wish to become ponies. Why? They’re offered pleasures without effort, a life ‘superior’ to that of nature. How quickly they forget all the good the wilderness has done to them. We knew our place, but like a disease, ponykind weakens their resolve and are steadily breaking down our livelihood through insidious means. Baked goods, women, riches, and of course, literacy.” “Now we get to the meat of the matter.” “Our history is passed solely through words, spoken from the old to the young. But books, these pointless articles, contain the lies and treachery of a frivolous, despicable species. ‘To become something in pony society you need an education,’ is what my brethren were told. And right away they enlist themselves for indoctrination, and pony supremacy grows ever more.” “Sounds like your heritage isn’t all that chocked up if they come running like that.” We’ve circled the compartment a few times. I get the sense things are winding down. “They’ll realize the error of their ways once the pony race is gone, beginning with their records. And when those are dealt with, their gilded infrastructure will soon follow, along with those who inhabit it. Afterwards, only buffalo will remain: as it once was, and as it should always be.” “Lofty goals, but the empire is spread out far and wide, and there’s a kind of romantic appeal to the south. Even if you pull this off, I doubt you can keep them from coming back for long.” “We will at least make such enterprise a deathwish. Besides, there are others who despise ponies. Should the call for blood arise, we will come in force.” “Yeah, but can we switch focus to your current stage of plans? As in, the one I’m about to stop right now, whether you want it to or not.” We stop circling each other, and end up back where we had started. Rather pointless when you think about it... “The noble dragon, made subservient to ponies,” he continues with a smirk. “Evidence to their sheer disregard of Nature’s order. This crime against your species shall end with you, and soon, all crimes committed by pony will be avenged.” “Ends with me, eh? Guess that counts as a threat to a royal agent of the empire. That being the case...” I spin around my sword before assuming a battle stance. “Let’s see what you got, big guy.” “Hmff. Arrogance will help you none here. And neither will brute strength alone.” And with that, he vanishes. “What the—?” I barely have time to turn around before a back kick hits my side and launches me out the engine room door. I bounce off the floor of the sleeping car, go through another door, and go bowling through the corpses in the next car down, which bring me to a stop. A groan escapes me as I get up and reorient myself. Before I can start piecing together how that happened, the wall holding the door I came from explodes into smoke and sawdust. From the windy, gaping hole came the buffalo, except now with some fierce green aura radiating from him like heat. I don’t want to believe what I’m thinking this is. “Before my tribe disbanded, I served an important role as Head Shaman.” He holds up a massive, glowing hoof. “The fury of the buffalo courses through my veins, and the full brunt of it shall rain down upon you!” His eyes become solid white as the car starts to shake with his groan of increasing power. Loose fixtures start rising up, and random things like crate lids and severed limbs begin floating up in the air, encased in that same dark green light. Before I can object to this, a wooden wedge comes flying at me, which I narrowly duck. A crate lid comes at me next, but I slice it in two. Some crates open up around me and assorted cargo come rising up and fly at me. I dodge and slice up this barrage of deja vu until the floorboards and parts of the ceiling start to come at me. I’m battling two persistent boards when I get smacked by a chunk of Diamond Dog torso, and before I know it I’m fighting floating dead bits (lovely). Despite these random distractions, I do take notice of the two hundred pound crate flying my way. I crouch flat to avoid it, but the air drag it creates pulls me in the direction of the large hole it makes on the way out. I tumble and fall outside, but I hold to the inside with both arms and heft back onto solid footing. I take a moment to catch my breath. Dumb move as it turns out, because when I look up, I see the crate outside coming right at my face. I black out briefly, but my senses come back jarringly as I vacate the train in an aerial, horizontal fashion (though my shades help deal with the sudden return of light). The hot desert ground isn’t much of a cushion, but it helps jolt my senses back into place as I eventually tumble to a stop. I push myself up, wiping off the dirt while watching the retreating train. What follows next might be the result of a concussion. Rather than proceed down the tracks, the engine derails sharply to the right, taking along the other cars into the desert at high speed. It starts heading for me before turning in on itself, circling around faster and faster before collapsing into some giant wooden and metal tornado that starts taking shape. Two thick “arms” and the torso of some wooden hell-beast with a train engine for a head and green energy glowing at the seams arises like a sign of the apocalypse. The freakin’ abomination of wood, steel and fire rears back and lets out something that’s both a sweltering roar and a steam whistle that rends the air. The feel of its “breath” proves, sadly, that this is no hallucination. Well, time to say something witty. “You don’t see that everyday...” “THIS IS THE POTENTIAL THAT YOUR MASTERS WANT TO DEPRIVE MY BRETHREN!” Impressive: his voice is barely louder than what it had been originally. Though more echo-y. “THE WILL OF NATURE IS IN MY GRASP. WITH IT, I SHALL BURY YOU BENEATH THESE BURNING SANDS, AND PONYKIND WILL SOON FOLLOW!” The loco-monster raises a massive fist and drops it with what I’m assuming would be the force of a mountain. I won’t be checking that, since I decide to run and leap off to the side before it hits. The ground shudders violently from the impact, and I’m back on my feet before it winds up for another slam. I crouch and push off the ground into a backflip that gets me yards away from the impact site, and failing to hit me twice, the train golem twists around to deliver a fast, low arm sweep. I spring up but don’t clear it completely, getting caught by the top of the arm and left falling to the ground ungracefully. Coughing up dirt the second time today, I look up to see the guy raising both arms over its head. I push off the ground and backroll before a two-fisted slam pulverizes me. I leap out of the roll and run over to the grounded fists, hopping onto them before they start moving. I run up the length of the right arm, sword drawn and thinking how I’m going to dig out Boulderstorm. The “head” turns and eyes me as I near the shoulder, and it opens a jagged metal mouth to belch out a fireball that sets flame to the wood I’m standing on. I dance about the flames a bit, but then the shoulder starts shaking and wood panels spring up, knocking me off the beast while at the same time snuffing the flames (convenient). I hit the ground and roll on my side a few yards (starting to get tired of this. Even more dirt to go with the tears and singe marks), sliding to a stop eventually in a cloud of dust. I get back on my feet again to stare down my foe... well, stare up. Strongheart told me once about buffalo mysticism, but I thought it had to do more with spirituality and that sort of junk, nothing practical. But here it was, big bold and kicking my ass. Gotta whittle it down, but it’s making it difficult. Certainly can’t go for the war-of-attrition approach, that’s for sure. The monstrosity makes a more restrained demonic roar and pulls back for another attack, but suddenly a railcar out of nowhere flies up and smashes into its face. It bends back and wails more in surprise than pain, and as it flouts about a pony lands off to my side. Are you for real? “HA! Enjoy the taste of your own medicine, courtesy of the Great and Powerful Trixie!” I only had one thing to say in light of this fortuitous back-up. “I told you to get your ass back to town, Trixie!” “And miss out on some much-deserved heroics? Trixie may be humble, but she is far from boring.” I look to the staggering train beast, than back to Trix. “How’d you manage that?” “I told you that I’ve been improving my magic. And as a wise pony once said: ‘Give me a fulcrum and I can move the world.’ Or train car, in this case.” Boning up on philosophy as well. Gee, how fascinating. The train beast has stopped recovering and gives the two of us a rightfully pissed look. Instantly I hop over onto Trixie’s back. “Hey, what are you—” “Just shut up and ride!” “And why should I?” The incoming megafist tells her. She complies with a girlish yelp and gallops off, putting about ten yards between us and the impact site by the time the fist hits. “Hey, you’re going the wrong way!” “Trixie didn’t sign up for experiencing a potentially violent death on her part!” Oh jeez. “By order of Her Majesty’s Vanguard, turn back and circle that thing!” “Ugggh! For the sake of carrying out Her Majesty’s will, then.” She does a one-eighty back toward the monstrosity. Trixie has always been a good runner when the need calls for it, and she’s making good speed as we begin to circle the train beast. It raises a fist and brings it down to smash us, but it’s too slow as my “trusty” steed outruns it easily. The golem’s a quick learner, though, cuz it swivels around for a pre-emptive smash. “Turn back around, NOW!” Trixie skids and instantaneously we’re going the other direction, moments before the fist comes down. The beast swivels around for another go, but I have an idea. Immediately I hop up to stand atop Trixie’s back. “Oof!” (She actually verbalized an “oof”) “What are you doing?!” “Just hold steady.” I bring up my sword. “Easy for you to say!” I put a thumb to the blade and split it as the train golem brings down a fist. However, I’m quicker by a breath. “Jade Slicer!” Sword wrapped in a small flame, I swing it upward, loosing a flaming crescent at the incoming fist (an aerial variant of the Slider, as you might have guessed). There is a deafening crack of wood and metal being torn asunder as the monster’s arm is split down the middle, halting its attack as it lets off another roar/whistle. Heh, not so tough-looking now. A few more should do it, or maybe one really good one. “Good work, Trix! Now get me closer!” “What?!” “Not right up to it, but closer than where we are. Now giddyup!” There is an exaggerated groan of compliance and something about indignities as Trixie begins turning inward toward the rail behemoth (huh, that’s a good one). I prepare to coat the sword for another go, but a rumble emanates from the target. “ENOUGH. THE EARTH COMETH TO DESTROY YOU!” The big guy holds up both its fists and starts shaking, as both its mitts begin glowing with an intensifying green energy. Then it slams them into the ground at its sides, and that’s when the world moved for me and Trixie. Specifically, it moved vertically, and at a breakneck pace. I’m shot upward as a literal mountain peak rises up beneath us. I manage to catch sight of Trixie flying off somewhere before I land flat on the newly-risen mountaintop. I pull myself up again (how many times does that make this?) and look over the desert below, before looking down at the behemoth, who gives a roar before punching through the mountain. Level ground slopes sharply as I flail my arms to maintain balance, but the rock beneath drops a foot and I’m falling off the edge. I right myself mid-air and see that other little peaks had risen up from whatever-the-hell-it-just-pulled. It pulls back to punch me as I plummet, but I flap myself back into some of the falling rubble to an especially thick boulder. Planting feet onto it, I push off in the direction of one of the other peaks just as the bits of mountain get punched into dust. I roll and get up into a sprint once I land on the nearest peak. The other peaks appear to form a circle, like a barrier around their creator. Too little too late for that, I think as I leap over to the next mountain. I grab fistfuls of rock and begin climbing with both claws and feet, just as big guy turns over to knock me down a peg. I’m almost at the top when he punches out the base. As the slope topples over I just run the rest of the way up, and at the top I jump over to the next mountain. I crouch into a landing as dust fills the air, but a pair of fiery red flares up right before a split fist flies through. I hop up onto the arm just as it demolishes my resting spot, and I run for the head. The arm flashes green before it starts waving around furiously, no doubt trying to get me off. My sword gets planted into the wood and I hold fast like no tomorrow, but the lug brings the arm in and pulls back for a mighty upward swing that dislodges me and my sword skyward. I gain altitude for about five seconds before slowing down to a stop, and flipping over I watch as the desert and the rail behemoth come up to meet me. The monstrosity gets the bright idea to tear off a chunk of mountain and throw it straight at me, but I’m ready for it (freefalls tend to hone my focus). I hold up my sword, wait, and bring it down just as the rock is about to connect. It splits perfectly, with nary a pebble or sparkle (wait, sparkle?) dislodged. However, once through I’m greeted by a stream of fire from Mr. Engine Head. I pull off some wild aerial maneuvers to roll out of harm’s way (still singed my suit some more, the bastard), and do it some more as more bursts of fire fly up to cook me. The behemoth getting nearer, I move into position and take aim with the sword. Take center, dead center. Then in a blink, half the blade is driven down into the thing’s “forehead”, letting out clouds of pressurized steam and heat. It’s over. ...Or so I thought, until the head starts shuddering and that green aura comes up. It makes a shriek and flicks its head back hard, launching me right into the broad side of the mountain behind it. For a few moments I feel nothing, hanging there embedded into some solid-quality rock. The aches start easing in just as my body detaches from the comfort of the crater, leading to a graceless fall of twenty feet onto, you guessed it, desert floor. I hear the clangs of my sword bouncing off somewhere amid the various rocks falling around from above. Pushing myself back up this time takes considerably more effort, but I manage to do it anyway (barely, and only in a sitting position). The cantankerous wooden fiery son of a bitch turns around to me, still glowing that oh so pleasant shade of green, looking at me as though gloating. Hell, I think I can spot a smile out of those jagged strips of boiler. “THE LAW OF YOUR MASTERS FAILS YOU. SEE HOW EASILY YOUR FORSAKEN INDUSTRY CAN TURN AGAINST YOU? TIS THE WILL OF NATURE AT WORK, AND THOSE WHO OPPOSE HER WILL BE DESTROYED WITHOUT MERCY.” Miraculously, my shades are still intact (magically enhanced, most likely). Which is a shame, because now they’re feeling pretty heavy. I can barely look the thing in the gaping fire holes that are its eyes, so standing up is gonna be a pain. Have to get my sword back. Then I have a chance. Maybe split it width-wise, get it to topple over. Then I spot something amid the debris. Something embedded in the chunks of rock. It occurs to me why things were all glittery when I had split that boulder, and strength from deep down starts filling me. Something... primal. “You know...” Catch my breath. “You mentioning this stuff about nature. I think I can see your point.” “WHAT WAS THAT?” I use some of the growing energy to get back up. My mind starts firing off with a million thoughts, but I manage to keep focus for just a bit longer. I start walking slowly toward the behemoth, pulling off my suit jacket as I do so. “You referred to me as a noble dragon. You see, by nature’s law, dragons only aspire to do three things: eat, mate, and hoard things.” My undershirt comes next. “And lucky for them, nature provides one thing that can satisfy all three.” I fold up the two articles and put them on the ground, along with my shades. “And two of those can be satisfied at the same time.” “STALLING? I NEVER IMAGINED YOU WERE ONE TO CLING TO LIFE IN SO PITIFUL A MANNER.” “No, not stalling. Observing.” I stop beside one of the rocks, bend down, and pick it up, making sure the sun gleams off it. Make it more tantalizing. “Quartz. Pure, and straight from nature’s bosom. I’m willing to bet these mountains you made are loaded with 'em.” I lick the glossy mineral, then take a good bite of it. That’s all it takes for It to awaken. My thoughts give way to raw emotions. “It’s been a good long time since I had desert gems, especially of such pure quality. After such a long time, it’s a taste to kill for.” My tone of voice deepens. My mouth salivates as I lick my teeth. My chest is burning, my muscles twitch. “Given what I had to put up with today, this sort of delight I would most definitely WANT.” It’s time. “And whatever Spike WANTS, Spike GETS.” It becomes a blur at that point, but suddenly I felt very, very large and feeling very, very mean. I also remember seeing a massive look of surprise on trainhead’s stupid face, but after that it’s nothing but yellow-tinted motion and mayhem. A few punches here, a mountain smash there (probably ate a few mountains too). How it ended, I believe it involved two wooden arms being ripped off and a headbutt finisher. Probably a roar too (there’s a ringing left behind that’s usually associated with a roar). And also an explosion, that’s very important. The rest I’ll leave up to your imagination. As you all undoubtedly know, dragon maturity and growth is dictated not just by age, but also by how much stuff they can hoard. When I learned of that last bit firsthand, I wound up creating a localized natural disaster. But Her Highness saw a use for it, a good while into my tenure as her Vanguard. It was a bitch to do, but I eventually learned how to invoke a massive growth spurt at will. All it took was thinking up some really, really greedy thoughts (and being the restless youth I am, that’s plenty easy to do). There’s even a failsafe installed through an extensive ritual that puts a time limit on this inexplicable hormone storm (took hours for it to stick. Many long, boring hours. Painful, too). In short, if something needed serious smashing in a wide open area, there’s nothing quite as effective or convenient as a true dragon’s rage. The magical tampering made it so that I would no longer develop as a natural dragon anymore, but that’s mainly been the case my entire life, so nothing to cry about. When I’m back down to size, there’s considerably less mountain than before (ie, none at all). There’s also a massive pile of smoking wood and bent steel ahead of me. I walk casually toward it, bending down to pick up my sword as I pass it without losing step (miraculous it didn’t get crushed). At the base of the pile is Boulderstorm, kneeled over and coughing blood. His uniform is gone, and so are good chunks of hair and skin (not to mention one of his horns). I lay my sword over my shoulders as I stand before him. He gives a good hack of crimson before looking up at me. “You... are a traitor to your species, Fetcher. Cwoff!” I grin. “Not the first time someone told me that.” “It is obvious... Hyuhk! That there is no convincing you. But understand, Fetcher... Your masters... Their way, is wrong.” “Well, I tend to believe that the last one standing is right.” (Thank you, Pinkie). I lower the sword down to my side as he grimaces at me. “Arrogant. Seemingly immune to remorse or sympathy. I sincerely pray that when sorrow strikes, you are bereft of all feeling. Otherwise, you will suffer a thousandfold more than those you have slain.” His head drops as he coughs more violently, shuddering through rattled breath. I take the hilt with both hands as he does this, and level my blade over the back of his neck before raising it. “Heed me... Unless... there is drastic change... Nature... in all her forms... and designs... will always seek... unending retribution...” I give him a warrior’s death before he can choke. Blood pours strongly onto the sand, refreshing the desert as another life ends upon its harsh surface. Not often I fight those with really strong convictions, who die to their fullest as a result. Always guaranteed a place in my memory, somewhat our of respect, but mostly because they turn out to be the more interesting fights. They’re also a reminder of the deep-seated flaws of this world. Despite every act of goodwill and progresses in peace, racial tension has always hung over ponies and buffalo like some thick, invisible cloud. As with just about any other species that aren’t pony. With the spread of the empire, clash of cultures will always arise. Most end quietly, others with some resistance, but inevitably one remains dominant, and a stigma forms in the aftermath. That sort of thing can brew and ferment over time, lead to mistrust, paranoia, prejudice, hate. And then you end up with buffalos jacked up on desert mojo looking to cleanse the earth in the blood of their enemy. Typical pains of a modernizing world. I leave the corpse to decompose silently as I go looking for my suit. It’s about fifty yards away, covered in a thin layer of dust, but a good patting and it’s back on no worse for wear (aside from what happened to it earlier). Shades back in place, I look at the pile of the former train behemoth and spot some familiar wood blocks among the wreckage, untouched as luck would have it. No telling how many, though. With a sigh I put my sword back into its sheath and head back toward the pile. Time to fulfill the other half of my duty (oh lucky me). It takes nearly an hour for me to scrounge out the surviving books from the wreckage, a good several dozen of them. The sun has begun to set as I finish up the blood circle around the decently large pile. As I’m about the close the circle, a familiar face hobbles over to me, looking grimy and a bit moody. “Ah, see you survived,” I greet her, turning back to making the final drops. “Not ONE hint of concern for my well-being? To think Trixie not only had to put up with danger and near death from a great fall today, but apathy as well!” Guess that fall wasn’t so great, seeing that she's complaining in top form. “Comes with the job. Speaking of, you should’ve hurried up. Really could have used some help with this.” “Well you should count yourself lucky that Trixie even bothered coming back here instead of back to town.” “Uh-huh, real lucky.” The circle’s complete. I draw my sword and run a thin red line down the edge. “But since I’m here, Trixie might as well accompany you back. So are you coming or what?” “Just gimme a sec here.” I breath fire over the blade, and after a quick chant I slam it into the blood-stained dirt, the fire spreading out along the edge. Once the two ends meet, the fire shoots up and envelops the book pile, consuming it in a brilliant green bonfire before burning out. Not a trace but some scorched sand. A bit lazy sending them to the Librarium, but no way I’m hauling those things to where they actually belong. What’s important is they’re safe, and the princess sees that all things are in their proper place eventually. I look to Trixie. “You ready?” “Yes. Let’s get out of this horrid wasteland to someplace slightly less horrid, with a nice hot bath.” I nod, and we begin the long walk back to Appleloosa, the sinking sun setting the landscape ablaze with red orange. Nature’s warmth, bidding goodnight to all those who live and die by her each day. And a silent farewell to one very much devoted to her... “You must agree, Trixie outdid herself this day. You would have been crushed early on had Trixie not intervened, but not under Trixie’s watch would you die so easily!” “Hey, if you’re gonna be talking in third person the whole way, I’m riding you back.” “...Fine. Then you can make do with complete silence instead.” Hallelujah. (now if only it would last) SOUTHBOUND DUST JACKET end *With credit to Sleeper Brakeman (If you know who that is, you’re my kind of fellow)